Freak
by Sia Rose
Summary: There's only a certain amount of ridicule a person can take, even the great Sherlock Holmes. Sometimes, (rarely, of course), even Sherlock Holmes needs a little a reassurance. Who better to give it then Dr. John Watson? Vulnerable!Sherlock, a tad bit out of character. One shot.


It's been a long week, a case kept myself and John preoccupied and on the run for the last seven days. Barely giving us a moment to rest. I, myself, didn't need one but my flat mate-my best mate, my _lover_-did need the rest. Despite how much John denied it, I could see how tired he was when I looked him in the eyes.

I sat on the couch, leaning my head against the back, staring at the ceiling. _Freak._ The words broke through my mangled thoughts, making my stomach churn. Even after all I've done for those bastards, they still insisted on calling me a freak-reminding me everyday how unwanted I am, how much of a _freak _I am. I've prided myself on not letting such pitiful insults affect me but, every now and again, a twinge of hurt manages to slip through the cracks left by my priory school days. The countless torments, the countless beatings leaving me emotionally and physically scarred. Which is why I have prided myself on not letting anyone in.

That is until John Watson came waltzing-_well, limping_-into my life. From that moment on, I knew that I was a goner. No matter how much I tried ignored it, I couldn't overlook the ache in my chest every time John went out with another girl; the weird sensation every time our hands would touch. I tried so hard to ignore it, push all the unfamiliar feelings into the back of my head. I couldn't let myself get wrapped in something as dull as _feelings_; I knew the moment I gave in, I would have a weakness. I couldn't afford to have a weakness, but, more importantly, the mere thought of having such a weakness _scared me._ I still remember the day Moriarty had John strapped up to bombs, having the control over whether John lived, or not. I could still the feel the tightness of my chest, the sinking of my stomach, the pain that ran through me at the mere thought of losing John-_my John._ Right then I knew there was no turning back, I couldn't live without John, even if I wanted to.

My thoughts were interrupted by John taking a seat next to me on the couch, giving me a cup of tea. Gratefully, I took the cup into my hand, savoring the warmth against my skin. We sat there in silence for a few minutes, before, suddenly, John spoke.

"What's wrong?" His voice was soft and comforting. I hated to admit it, but John Watson knew me better than anyone else, he could read me like a book. It was both comforting and unnerving all at once. I took a small sip of the warm beverage in my hand, relishing as the sweet liquid hit my tongue. For a moment, I contemplated lying. However, I knew better than that.

"Do you think they're right?" I whispered, looking down at the cup in my hands.

"Who?" John asked, leaning forward and putting the cup on the table, then repositioning himself so he was fully facing me.

"Everyone. Do you think they're right when they call me a _freak_? Do you ever wonder what would have happened if you listened to Donovan that first night, if you just left right then and there? I help people the only way I know how and all they do is call me a freak. I try so fucking hard to not let their words get to me, but after a while it just breaks me. All my life, I've been told I was just a freak and that's all I will ever be. How could anyone love a freak? _Why_ would anyone love a freak? That's all I've heard my whole life. Even my own parents didn't want me, sending me away the first chance they got." I wasn't planning on saying all of that, but once I started, something in me just snapped. When I stopped, I felt vulnerable and exposed. I didn't like the feeling, it was unnerving. John was quiet for a few moments, I kept my gaze on the cup in front of me, not having the audacity to look him in the eyes. Carefully, John reached over and took the cup from my hand, placing it on the table. I followed his movements with eyes, training my gaze on his hands. He reached out to cup my face, his hands were warm and soft, comforting. I closed my eyes, relishing in the feeling of his hands. Gently, John forced me to meet his gaze. My breath hitched in my throat at the intensity of the love that shone within his beautiful eyes.

"Oh, love," he whispered, kissing my forehead. Softly, he learned his forehead against mine. I closed my eyes, enjoying the feeling of being so close to him. I felt him kiss my nose softly, then both of my cheeks, then my eyelids. He went on to kiss my jaw, then my chin, ending with a small, chaste kiss on my lips. It was soft and delicate, but my heart skipped a beat nonetheless, despite how horribly dull and cliché that sounds. When the kiss ended, I slowly opened my eyes, his soft blue orbs staring back at me. "You are not a freak." He said softly, adjusting his position so he was now straddling my lap. I rested my hands on his hips, while he kept his hands on my cheeks. "You are the best man I know, you're brave, you're generous, kind, loving, bloody brilliant and I love you so, so much. Do you know how much I love you, Sherlock Holmes?"

"No," I whispered, my voice cracking slightly.

"Well, let me explain everything I love about you. I love your eyes, the way they seem to be a different color each day. I love your neck, especially the way wither every time I bite this spot right here," he whispered, leaning and biting lightly behind my ear; eliciting a moan-near growl-from deep within my chest. I felt him chuckle against my neck, _bloody bastard. _"I love your lips and the way that you know how to unravel me with just one kiss. I love your mouth and the sounds you make, whether it be the _brilliant_ words that never ceases to amaze me, or the sinful noises that only _I _get to hear." He leaned in and kissed my lips softly, careful not to deepen it. I felt my chest swell up with love and I blinked away the tears that threatened to spill over. He leaned forward, kissing my forehead.

"I love your mind," he whispered, touching his forehead against mine. "I love how you can deduce anything just by looking at it. I love how you always say what you're thinking, even when you're blunt about it." By this point, his hands moved down to my chest, playing the buttons of my shirt. "But do you know what I love the most about you?" He asked, slowly unbuttoning my shirt. I shook my head in response, not trusting my voice. "What I love most about you is this," he murmured, kissing my chest, just above my heart. "Your heart, it's the most beautiful thing about you." He place light, feathery kisses on my chest before sitting up to look me straight in the eyes. He rested his hand on chest, right above my chest. "Since day one, people told that you don't have a heart. Never once did I believe any of them, because I saw how much of yourself you put into each and every one of your cases. I saw the way you cared about Mrs. Hudson, and everyday I see how much you care about _me-_about _us._" I peered into his eyes, and the emotion I saw in them was almost too much to bear. "Sherlock, you're not a freak. You're bloody brilliant, you're amazing and anyone who has the _audacity_ to call you a freak, then they can go fuck themselves."

Before he could go on, I leaned forward, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. He gasped in surprise, giving me the perfect opportunity to deepen the kiss. Almost immediately, he kissed back with just as much fever. I grasped onto his hips, bringing him impossibly closer, and he tangled his fingers through my hair, pulling slightly. When air became a necessity, he broke the kiss, gasping for air. I didn't waist anytime before I latched onto his neck, biting and sucking as I saw fit. I relished in the noises I heard falling from his lips, causing me double my efforts. When I was satisfied with my work, I gave it one last lick, before pulling back to look into his eyes. I gasped when I saw that his eyes were now almost black, clouded with lust.

"John," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I don't know what I did to deserve you, but there isn't a day that goes by that I'm not eternally grateful for whatever action that was. Grateful that every morning, I get to wake up with you curled up against me. That every night, I get to hold you in my arms, reassured that you'll still be there in the morning. I was once scared of what you did to me, the emotions you evoked within me. I knew that it was a weakness, but you know what? I've learned something. I've learned that you're not a weakness, John. You're my strength; you're what keeps me going, what keeps me from becoming self-destructive. You keep me sane. And that isn't a weakness, it's a strength." A stray tear was flowing down his right cheek (_right means happiness, left means pain_). I use my thumb to wipe it away softly. He once again leaned forward, pressing his forehead against mine.

"I love you, Sherlock Homes." He whispered, closing his eyes.

"I love you too, John Watson." _My John Watson._

* * *

**Hello, my lovely readers. I know I haven't written anything in a long while, that's because a) I've been swamped with school work/personal stuff; and b) I've had a bad case of Writer's Block. Sherlock is my latest obsession, and yeah, this is what came from it. I know Sherlock may seem a tad bit out of character, but I thought it was fitting. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. Oh, and I apologize for any mistakes, I read through it a hundred times and I hope I caught most of them.  
Oh-and the whole _right means happiness, left means pain..._part refers to the fact that it is (I believe)psychological fact that if the first tear comes from the right eye, it's a tear of happiness, if from the left, it's pain.**


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